


Yet Another First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives Fic

by GraciousK



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Boners, Awkward Kissing, Comedy, Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), First Time, Hedonist Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Undressing Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraciousK/pseuds/GraciousK
Summary: TL;DR: After all this time, these two ineffable (& mostly-asexual) beings finally make the effort for each other. It ends up being awkwardly hot.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 84





	1. Foreplay

_ There were angels dining at the Ritz  
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square _

Crowley lounged in his seat, surveying the remnants of their meal with lazy satisfaction. The service being what it was, all that remained was a row of nearly empty glasses and some crumbs.

They had outdone themselves today. Lunch had turned into dinner, then supper, and on through desserts and coffee and cocktails. Crowley even stole a few bites from Aziraphale's plates (hence the crumbs), just to experience a taste of what they'd saved: the world, and all the pleasures thereupon.

The demon couldn't help but appreciate a bit of gluttony, despite the angel's insistence on settling the tab properly. Crowley was so well pleased he couldn't even summon the ill will to frown at the generous tip Aziraphale was tucking under the lip of his plate.

With a casual gesture of his digestif, Crowley said, "What on Earth do you think we should do now?"

Aziraphale fidgeted for significantly longer than usual before replying, "Perhaps I can interest you in a nightcap."

"I was thinking more existentially, but…" Crowley downed his drink. "What the Heaven. Why not?"

If Aziraphale seemed quieter and less  _ flinchy  _ than usual on the drive over, neither of them commented on it. In fact, Aziraphale barely spoke a word until they were almost to the bookstore, at which point he said, "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, could we take a case or two to your flat?"

Crowley's pupils narrowed as he considered the question. He turned to look at Aziraphale as he squealed to the curb, expecting to get some sort of rise out of the angel. 

Instead Aziraphale just looked back at him with a beatific, if somewhat nervous, smile. "You do have a proper flat, don't you?" the angel inquired. "With a kitchen, and a… bedroom… and all that?"

"Of course I have a-" Crowley chafed. "Angel, you woke up there this morning."

"Did I? I hardly remember a thing before…" Aziraphale searched his memory, "Ice lollies in the park."

"I'm pretty sure you did," Crowley said, less certain. His own memories were just as hazy, now that he tried to recollect. He racked his brain and came up blank.

"You've never been to my flat before the apocalypse," he realized aloud. "Has that been on purpose, all this time?"

"I'm rather surprised you hadn't noticed," Aziraphale replied coolly.

"Makes sense, though. Wouldn't want to get caught in my den of iniquity."

"Well," Aziraphale said gently, "I'm sure it's not all that bad."

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it," Crowley murmured, glancing at Aziraphale to see his reaction.

The angel only smiled. Unless Crowley was going mad, he even had a twinkle in his eye.

Crowley's smirk widened into a devilish grin.  _ This is new, _ he thought. "Alright then," is what he said out loud. "Go get your wine."

"Brandy, I think, tonight," Aziraphale said. He ignored what Crowley's eyebrows were doing and directed his attention to his shop. A blink later Crowley could feel the Bentley's struts adjust to the weight that miraculously appeared in the boot.

"Oh, now you're just being lazy," Crowley chided.

"Not lazy -- efficient," Aziraphale objected. "It would've taken at least two trips to do it by hand, and I'd have undoubtedly gotten in someone's way, or- imagine if a customer thought the shop was open. Heaven forbid. There's nothing  _ lazy _ about…" he went on, defensively.

_ Now that's more like it, _ Crowley thought, pleased that his needling was finally successful. He roared back onto the street while Aziraphale was still talking, and grinned wolfishly to himself when the angel cut short with a yelp to brace his hands against the dash.

When they arrived Crowley sent the bottles up to his flat in much the same way they had gotten into his car, except he'd have proudly admitted to his laziness… if Aziraphale had bothered to mention it. But the angel had gone uncharacteristically quiet again, his hands clasped perhaps a bit tighter than usual as they made their way through the building.

He confirmed that the bottles were where he'd wanted them - on the pristine kitchen counter, just by a pair of newly-conjured snifters - before turning to look back at the angel.

Aziraphale's steps were tentative, his gaze flitting about to take everything in.

"Do you really not remember?" Crowley asked.

"It is coming back to me. It's just all a bit… sparse."

Crowley took off his shades and tossed them onto an end table. It was a poor refutation of Aziraphale's point. "If I wanted clutter," Crowley spat, "I'd go visit your bookshop."

"I just thought, given your tastes, it would be a little more… I don't know. Ostentatious."

Crowley snorted, his amusement at Aziraphale's tastelessness overriding any potential offense he might have taken.

"It does suit you, though," Aziraphale said, pursing his lips in something approximating a polite smile. Until he saw the houseplants. "Oh, good Heavens." He rushed over, the very picture of concern.

"What?" Crowley demanded. He stalked after the angel, peering over his shoulder at the greenery. "They're perfectly healthy, aren't they?" It was more of a warning than a question.

"They're beautiful, but… terrified!" Aziraphale fussed over the leaves, giving each plant a reassuring pat. "My dear fellow, what have you done to them?"

"Nothing," Crowley assured, adding under his breath, "...yet."

"Stop it," Aziraphale scolded over his shoulder.

"I thought you'd like them," Crowley grumbled, resentful of how contented the plants seemed under the angel's touch. "They like you."

"They're lovely," Aziraphale said, more to the plants than to Crowley. Then he whirled, suddenly stern. "And you should be nicer to them!"

It took all of Crowley's (limited) restraint to keep himself from laughing in the angel's face. "Oh, I'm sure," he managed, barely.

"I mean it!"

Crowley nodded at him, mock-serious. "I'll think about it."

"Please do," Aziraphale said, actually serious. He beelined for the liquor in a huff. 

There was no point in arguing. Crowley had seen the results of Aziraphale's gardening, and he had no grounds to question the angel's methods. He trailed Aziraphale into the kitchen silently, but not before shooting one last glare at his houseplants to make sure they didn't get any funny ideas.

"The poor things," Aziraphale said to himself as he uncorked and decanted. "Why would anyone be cruel to a plant? What have plants ever done to anyone? I swear, it's almost enough to… well."

Crowley leaned against the counter near Aziraphale's elbow. "Almost enough to what?" he asked, nonchalantly extending one hand, palm-up, in the angel's general direction.

Aziraphale looked up into the demon's golden eyes, and some of the pinchiness left his face. He sighed. "Never mind," he said, obligingly placing a snifter into Crowley's waggling fingers.

The demon swirled the brandy in his glass and waited for Aziraphale to start expounding on the vintage. Instead the angel stammered out a nonsensical, "Yes… well… very good… I suppose…" Then he drained his drink and poured another, overfilling the wide glass dramatically, then immediately drinking it down to a more appropriate level.

"You alright?" Crowley asked, eyes narrowing to slits.

Aziraphale returned Crowley's gaze with an emotion that Crowley found completely inscrutable. "Oh, tremendously." Upon seeing the demon's face, he quickly shifted gears. "Why wouldn't I be alright?" Aziraphale twittered, taking up the opened bottle. "We saved the world, didn't we?" On second thought, he tucked an additional bottle under one arm.

"We did, didn't we?" Crowley replied, proud.

It was as if Aziraphale didn't even hear him. "I think, perhaps, the lounge might be a good place to start," said the angel, before smiling tightly and bustling in that direction.

Crowley shrugged. On impulse, he grabbed another bottle before sauntering out. 

The lounge had, quite wisely in Crowley's opinion, refit itself to be more conducive to companionable drinking. Aziraphale seemed not to notice, setting the liquor on a low table in front of the fire as if both had always been there.

"Please, do make yourself at home," Crowley snarked, plonking the extra bottle next to Aziraphale's arrangement.

"I'll try my best," said Aziraphale. He sat neatly on the sofa (which had manifested at a convenient and comfortable distance from the fire). "But I must say, the aura of terror makes that somewhat difficult."

Crowley rolled his eyes, shouting for his houseplants to hear, "You can relax! I've got company over-- I'm not going to hurt you in front of company!" He turned back to Aziraphale. "Any better?"

"Not really," the angel said, "but I appreciate the attempt."

Crowley scoffed. "You're precious."

Aziraphale blushed. "Thank you," he said.

Crowley scowled, draping himself over the opposite arm of the sofa, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale was  _ beaming _ . He sniffed his glass of brandy before tasting it. "Mm! What is this, cognac?"

Aziraphale nodded, too busy drinking to say much.

Crowley took another sip, then smacked his lips. "It's good. Awfully good. Haven't had a cognac like this in at least a hundred years."

"There was a blight in the mid 19th century," Aziraphale explained.

"I bet it took a minor miracle to find this." Crowley raised his glass.

"Certainly," Aziraphale replied, smiling modestly. Their snifters clinked together, and both of them drank.

Except while Crowley took another appreciative sip, Aziraphale gulped down the rest of his glass. Again. This time he only overfilled his glass slightly… possibly because he'd already reached the end of the bottle.

Crowley watched all of this with a growing unease. It wasn't right. Unease was  _ his  _ job, not the angel's. When Aziraphale looked back at him with those innocent eyes, Crowley couldn't help but snap, "Alright, what's going on?"

Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"Something's off about you," Crowley accused.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," the angel objected, immediately undercutting himself with a guilty swig from his snifter.

"That's what I'm talking about! You're chugging aged cognac like it was cheap wallop. And don't try to blame it on the plants. I've seen you more relaxed at crucifixions!" Aziraphale's expression of exaggerated indignation only made Crowley more suspicious. "Are you scheming? Is that why you wanted to come here, specifically? For some sort of scheme?"

"I… well… that is to say… I wouldn't necessarily call it  _ scheming _ , but…"

Crowley cackled, short and sharp. "You are, aren't you?"

Aziraphale made a sour face. Instead of answering, he drank.

"I knew it!" Crowley crowed. "I've been a terrible influence on you. I'm very proud."

"Please don't say that," Aziraphale insisted quietly. His lips were in a very thin line, when they weren't at the rim of his glass.

"So, what's the plan?" Crowley said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming.

"I- er…" Aziraphale inhaled deeply. "To be completely honest, I hadn't really  _ planned _ on bringing it up until we were much drunker than this." He punctuated his sentence with a demonstration.

"And?" Crowley prompted.

" _ And _ … that's why I'm drinking so fast," Aziraphale said, with patience bordering on superciliousness. He made as if to reach for another bottle--

But Crowley struck out with one hand to grab the angel by the collar, closing the distance and yanking Aziraphale towards him in the same whip-quick motion. He snarled into Aziraphale's face, "Out with it, angel."

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath and began to stammer, "I- er- I-"

Crowley didn't have the patience. "Tell me!" he bellowed, giving the angel a good shake for emphasis. "Now!"

"Sex!" Aziraphale squeaked, cringing.

For the next few seconds, Crowley held Aziraphale very still and very close. He inspected the angel's face with slitted eyes, smelling the stink of sincerity on him. Finally, he said, "Oh, is that all?" and let go of the angel's shirt to repose casually next to him on the sofa.

Aziraphale stiffened back into his seat, smoothed out his collar, and let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and exasperation.

Next to him, Crowley took a calm sip of cognac.

"Was that really necessary?" Aziraphale huffed.

"Probably not," Crowley admitted. "Though I don't understand why you'd be so cagey about something as mundane as sex. You had me worried for a moment."

Aziraphale could only stare.

"What?" Crowley made a face. "I mean, I was under the impression you'd already…"

"Never!" Aziraphale exclaimed, horrified. "What in Heaven's name gave you that idea?"

"All that business with the nephilim…" Crowley gestured vaguely. "I figured at least one or two of them were yours."

"Absolutely not!" Aziraphale insisted, vehemently.

"Ah, well," Crowley said, only a little disappointed.

"I was under the impression they were yours," said Aziraphale. "Well," he corrected himself, "not  _ yours _ specifically, but your side's."

"I suppose I wouldn't be too surprised. Though they did have that cherubic look, despite the size of them."

Aziraphale was already opening the next bottle, and Crowley waved his glass towards the angel for a top-off. Aziraphale obliged with a nod, this time filling the glasses properly. Then the two sat for a moment, contemplating their snifters.

Aziraphale ventured, "Have you…?"

"Nah," Crowley said.

"I'd thought it would be part of the job description. Tempting mortals into the sin of lust, and what have you."   
  
"The temptation, sure, but the sex? Not really." Crowley sniffed. "Never really understood the appeal. All that wet meat, slapping together? Ech."

"I'm led to believe it's one of the chief earthly pleasures," Aziraphale said delicately.

"People do seem to enjoy it," Crowley acknowledged. "They must, with how much time they spend doing it, or trying to." He arched an eyebrow at the angel. "Is that why you're interested? A new earthly pleasure to experience?"

Aziraphale shrugged, then sighed, then squirmed. Finally, he said, "Mainly, yes."

Crowley smiled crookedly. "Oh?"

"As one might expect, all the earthly pleasures I've tried have been rather… well, pleasant, for lack of a better word."

"Makes sense," Crowley said. "Still not sure why a hedonist like you has taken so long to get around to it."

Aziraphale ignored the insult. "I have been… let's say, curious… for some time now, but, you know. I don't think anyone Up There would have approved."

"Certainly not," Crowley agreed.

"The past few days, that's hardly seemed to matter." The angel took a sip of his drink, mulling his words. "End of the world, you know. Seemed like the appropriate time. I thought about asking… would have liked to, in fact, but… things got so busy. There was always something more important going on." Aziraphale trailed off, gazing into the amber liquor swirling in his glass.

"Now here we are, with nothing but time," Crowley prompted.

"And no one watching," Aziraphale said, more sly than Crowley suspected an angel should ever be.

The demon found it incredibly endearing. "Keep talking like that, angel, you'll have me wrapped around your little finger."

Aziraphale drew himself up a little taller. "You don't have to make fun."

"I'm not," Crowley said, wounded. "I like when you talk sinful to me. Makes me all tingly." 

The demon stretched his arm out casually along the back of the sofa, finding Aziraphale as if by accident. He let his hand idle there, brushing his fingertips along the curve of the angel's shoulder.

Aziraphale turned his head to appraise the roving hand with a sidelong glance. He looked solemnly up into Crowley's smiling eyes. "You're not… entirely… opposed to the idea?"

"'Course not."

That strange expression crossed Aziraphale's face again before resolving into a soft smile. "Well. That's… well."

Crowley drew the moment out as long as he could stand it. He took a long sip of his cognac. Then he asked: "So, what kind of sex would you like to try?"

The look of shock on the angel's face was  _ delicious _ . "I… I honestly couldn't say. The usual kind, I suppose."

"Well you should go ask someone who has a 'usual kind' then. I'm afraid we're both starting from scratch." Crowley tempered his snark with a firm caress, dragging the pad of his thumb along the seam of Aziraphale's coat.

"I'm sure you must know something about the subject," Aziraphale pressed.

"Oh, sure! There's manual, oral, anal… vaginal, would take some adjustment on at least one of our parts… intercrural's gone out of fashion these days… then there's fingering, muffing, spanking, rope bondage, fisting, puppy play, golden showers, the rusty trombone…" 

The corner of Aziraphale's mouth twitched. "You've lost me, I'm afraid."

"What I mean is, there's as many ways to have sex as there are people on this planet. More, probably. Could you at least narrow it down a bit?"

"You can leave the trombones out, for a start."

"It's not--" Crowley's hand left Aziraphale's shoulder to palm his own grimacing face. "It doesn't involve literal-- it's a metaphor."

"How was I supposed to know that!"

"Seems obvious, from the…" Crowley pantomimed.

Aziraphale's uncomprehending face spoke for itself.

"Oh, come on," Crowley howled, right on the edge between outrage and amusement. "You can't be totally ignorant!"

" _ Innocent _ is the preferred term," Aziraphale corrected.

"How?" Crowley demanded. "No, really, how? You've been on earth just as long as I have. The garden wasn't that big. I don't know how you missed it."

"I was there to guard, not spy," Aziraphale replied, indignant. Then, almost offended: "You mean to tell me you  _ watch _ ?"

Crowley shrugged. "I don't know how you avoid it. Seems like they're always going at it."

"Not usually in public," Aziraphale retorted.

Gears turned in Crowley's head. "Oh! That's why you made such a fuss about the bedroom."

"I do know that much, at least." Aziraphale admitted, "I'm not entirely innocent. I've read books."

Crowley groaned. "You won't learn anything about sex from pornography."

"Not pornography! Literature, my dear boy. If I may quote from Moby Dick,  _ Let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness. _ "

"Never, ever say those words, in that order, ever again," Crowley said, disgusted. He brought his glass to his lips, muttering, "I knew there was a reason I don't read books…"

"I am trying to say," Aziraphale interjected, "that sex is a natural part of the human condition. You can't spend six thousand years on earth and remain entirely innocent. But… there are things you can't learn from books."

"I'll say," Crowley said into his snifter.

"I was hoping you could teach me."

Now he had Crowley's attention. The demon thought, but didn't say, that if Hell were still keeping score, this would be a big one. What he said, trying not to sound eager, was simply: "Alright."

Aziraphale's whole face lit up with a giddy smile. "I do appreciate it."

They sipped their drinks and traded meaningful glances, but neither moved from where they sat. Crowley was the one to finally say it: "I'm not sure where exactly to start. Should we just… get naked, jump into bed, insert Tab A into Slot B?"

"I believe there's more to it than that," Aziraphale said. "At the very least, there must be some process for… I have it on good authority that… there are certain physiological changes that must occur before… you know. Insertion."

"I'm certain we could figure something out," Crowley said. He made a small show of returning his arm to the back of the sofa, shifting his posture in unspoken invitation.

Aziraphale drained his glass. Instead of refilling it, he set it carefully on the table. He turned towards the demon with a determined look, and very purposefully leaned back into Crowley's extended arm. 

Crowley grinned, settling his hand comfortably at the base of Aziraphale's neck.

"We could start with kissing," suggested the angel. "See where that takes us. That's how humans seem to go about things."

"Mmm, not sure about kissing," Crowley said. His long fingers slithered into the angel's curls. "Putting mouths together seems… I dunno, unhygienic."

"People do it all the time," Aziraphale objected.

"And they're absolutely riddled with diseases. In fact, I think there's one specifically called _the kissing disease_."

"If you don't want to, you can say so," Aziraphale said gently.

Crowley scowled. "I didn't say that."

"But if you did, it would be alright." Aziraphale patted Crowley's knee in an attempt to reassure. After a moment's hesitation, he let his hand come to rest there. It was awkward, stiff, unpracticed... and in Crowley's opinion, utterly charming.

The demon raked his fingernails over Aziraphale's scalp, forcing himself to use a softer touch than his instincts urged. The angel rewarded him with fluttering eyelashes and a placid sigh that trailed off into a soft, appreciative hum.

"If you're not sure where else to start," Aziraphale said, "what you're currently doing feels divine."

"Don't tell me that," Crowley complained. "You'll ruin the mood."

"Call it  _ devilish _ , or whatever you'd like."

"Fiendish, perhapss?" Crowley said, low and sultry. "Diabolical? Sssatanic, even?"

"Now you're the one ruining the mood," Aziraphale said, trying (and failing) not to sound annoyed.

"Hmm," Crowley acknowledged. "Less talking, then, maybe. More touching." 

"That sounds…" Aziraphale discarded the first half-dozen superlatives that came to mind, finally settling on, "…perfect." He squeezed Crowley's knee appreciatively, and in return Crowley wound his fingers through the angel's hair.

After a few moments Crowley said, "You know, I don't think kissing always has to be mouth-to-mouth."

"Oh?" Aziraphale's eyes gleamed with interest.

Crowley considered. "Mind if I try something?"

"Not at all."

Crowley eased himself closer to Aziraphale. "Here- just-" he pulled at the angel's arm, "round the back, that's it." His own arm wormed around the angel's shoulders as he drew near.

Aziraphale wrapped a resolute arm around Crowley's waist, as instructed, and tried to maintain a receptive air. 

Crowley surveyed what little skin the angel already had exposed. "Where to start…" The cheek seemed safe enough. Crowley leaned in slowly enough that Aziraphale anticipated him, turning to offer himself in a way that made the demon flush with unexpected gratification.

Crowley's lips tentatively brushed the angel's cheek. 

It was just skin, really. He didn't know what else he'd expected. He tried again, firmer, a little closer to the jaw. Aziraphale tipped his head back encouragingly. 

Crowley's mouth gradually made its way to the soft hollow of the angel's throat. When Aziraphale hummed a contented sigh, Crowley was astounded by the vibration under his lips. He bore down harder, seeking and finding the angel's pulse.

In the space of a heartbeat the demon was consumed by a predator's need, to gnash and tear and rend, to bathe in arterial blood and consume living flesh. His tongue flicked out for a taste, finding the angel's neck to be just like any other warm-blooded creature's. It only made things worse. Crowley's lips parted to graze his teeth against the tender skin, his open mouth dragging along the tendons in Aziraphale's neck. When the angel moaned… 

Crowley forced himself to stop before he risked doing any real damage. He'd coiled himself around Aziraphale without thinking, knees tucked into the angel's lap, arm tight around his neck. He was still, somehow, holding the snifter of cognac aloft in his free hand.

Crowley pressed his forehead into the angel's temple and took a slow, steadying breath. The warmth of Aziraphale's skin was calming, and so was the weight of his arm around Crowley's waist. 

After a few breaths, Crowley remembered what the point of all this was. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Astronomically," Aziraphale breathed.

The angel's naive fearlessness infuriated Crowley deeply. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling for a demon to have. It brought him to his senses, at least enough to realize how desperately he needed a drink.

Crowley lifted his head to take a shaky sip, only noticing the angel's eyes were closed when Aziraphale opened them, slowly, as if awakening from a dream. "The sensorium is truly a remarkable apparatus," Aziraphale said, coming around. He regarded Crowley fondly. "Would you like a turn?"

The angel was being too sweet to comfortably snarl at, which only stoked Crowley's ill temper. He scoffed, and sighed, and rolled his eyes.

Aziraphale paid his surliness no mind. As long as Crowley was curled around him, the angel was happy to remain just as he was.

Eventually Crowley said, "You were right."

"About what?" asked Aziraphale, practically sparkling.

"We really should be drunker than this." Crowley downed the remainder of his snifter in one gulp, then dashed the empty glass against a wall.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale said.

Crowley used the angel as an anchor to lean over and grab a fresh bottle. A flash of his diabolical will popped the cork with astounding force, and Crowley took a long, gulping draw.

"I'd thought it went rather well," said Aziraphale, contrite.

"That's the problem," Crowley stormed. "It went far too well." Aziraphale's mellow concern only made Crowley more furious. "Did you completely fail to notice I was practically feral?"

"Ah," Aziraphale said, connecting dots. "...with the… teeth."

"With the teeth, yeah," Crowley jeered. He took another deep swig.

"I thought you were experimenting," Aziraphale said by way of justification. "I found the experience rather engaging, in fact. Though I must say, I don't have much to compare it to at the moment." He gestured towards the bottle, and Crowley handed it over. It didn't have very far to travel.

"I'm glad you liked it," Crowley scowled, sincere despite himself. He watched the angel's throat as he drank, noticing with some satisfaction the red blotches that marked where his mouth had been.

Aziraphale passed the bottle back. "If you didn't -- like it, that is -- we don't have to… I mean, this is perfectly nice in itself." The angel's empty hand patted the part of Crowley's leg that most overlapped his own.

Crowley didn't dignify that with a response. Instead he lifted the bottle to his lips again.

The furrows in Aziraphale's brow deepened. "Or we can stop entirely, if-"

"Oh, shut up," Crowley growled.

The angel's hand fluttered uncertainly on Crowley's knee. "I do hope you don't feel like you have to-"

"Really, shut up."

Aziraphale pouted. "I just want to make sure you're comf-"

Crowley silenced Aziraphale by covering the angel's mouth with his own. It wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected, even when Aziraphale began to kiss him back. Crowley withdrew as quickly as he'd attacked, lingering only long enough to hiss darkly against the angel's lips, "I ssaid, shut up."

Aziraphale obeyed. For a moment, at least. It gave Crowley time to drink.

The angel cleared his throat, twice, before saying very gingerly, "That's a rather perverse incentive."

"Mm?" said Crowley around a mouthful of cognac.

"I enjoyed that far too much for it to be an effective punishment."

"Ugh," Crowley groaned.

"If anything it's the opposite. If you did  _ that _ every time I was nattering on, I don't think I'd ever stop."

"...merciless Hell…"

"If I keep going, will you do it again?"

"No!" Crowley practically shouted. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm still not sure if I like it." He turned his head to fix Aziraphale with an infernal glare, only to finally notice the guileful smile on the angel's face. "Are you winding me up?"

"A little." Aziraphale looked flattered that Crowley had noticed.

"You bastard," Crowley said, meaning it as a compliment.

"Only a little," Aziraphale replied earnestly. "I did enjoy it, truthfully. Being kissed is surprisingly invigorating. You really should try it."

"Oh, d'you think?" Crowley scoffed.

"I'd be glad to give it a whirl, if you'd like," Aziraphale said, entirely sincere. "Though I can't guarantee I'll have your knack for it."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I'm right here," he said, his arm tightening around the angel's shoulders for emphasis. "You don't have to keep asking permission. Do what you want."

"But what if I do something you don't like," Aziraphale fretted.

"Then I'll tell you to stop," said Crowley, exasperated. 

When the angel didn't make a move, Crowley sneered, "What, do you need a stamped invitation? Should I go get the stationery?"

"I'm waiting for the right moment," Aziraphale replied primly.

Crowley sighed an overly put-upon sigh. He lifted the bottle and swallowed, twice. Then once more, for good measure. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before presenting his face towards the angel.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said politely.

Crowley was expecting the angel to come at him mouth-first. Instead Aziraphale raised his hand from Crowley's knee to touch his face, applying gentle pressure to adjust the angle of his jaw. 

Only then did Aziraphale press lips to Crowley's cheek, mirroring Crowley's previous actions. Though his lips lingered much longer than the demon's did, savoring the novel sensation of cool skin against his lips. It delighted him to discover that kissing was just as stimulating to the senses as being kissed. And so he did it again, and again.

Aziraphale's hand rose to cup the far side of Crowley's face, steadying him as he planted a row of firm kisses from the demon's cheekbone to his jaw. He continued along the crest of Crowley's jawbone until he reached the point of his chin, pausing to deliberate.

Crowley blinked slowly at him.

He pecked chastely at the tip of Crowley's nose. Again, even more delicately, at the corner of his mouth. 

The angel hesitated. "May I-"

"Yes."

Aziraphale took a breath to steel himself. Then he hooked a thumb under Crowley's chin, pushed the demon's head back, and dipped to kiss his neck.

Warmth spread under Crowley's skin at every point of contact: under the angel's mouth, and his palm, each one of his fingers, the arm encircling his waist, the thigh under his folded legs, the swell of belly that pressed against him as the angel leaned in… Crowley found his eyelids drooping, his nictating membranes half-closing underneath.

Aziraphale's lips parted against the demon's throat in an attempt to replicate what had been done to him, but he didn't have the heart to bite very hard. What he lacked in heat he made up for in enthusiasm.

The angel's mouth ministered to every bit of skin between Crowley's chin and his collar, following the plunge of his neckline down to his collarbone. He paid special attention to Crowley's clavicular ridge and nuzzled appreciatively into his jugular notch.

Through it all, Crowley remained silently pliant, which Aziraphale couldn't help but find unsettling. It was so unlike him.

Aziraphale paused, dithering for a moment before asking, "Am I doing alright?"

"Mmmhmm," Crowley intoned. He stretched, languid, exposing more of his underbelly for the angel's further attention. He was still holding onto his bottle of cognac, barely, balancing it against his hip at an awkward angle.

Aziraphale gazed up at Crowley's half-hooded eyes, savoring the heft of the demon's lithe body lying slack in his arms. Then he glanced lower. 

"Good heavens."

"What?" Crowley asked, annoyed over the lack of kissing.

"You've… you're..." Aziraphale stammered. "You shouldn't need  _ me  _ to tell you…"

Crowley let out an indolent groan, slowly lifting his head. He followed Aziraphale's line of sight, which was fixed on the lump that had grown between Crowley's thighs. 

The demon peered down at himself. "Huh."

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. "I wasn't even sure it was possible." He looked back up into Aziraphale's wide, slightly panicked eyes with a languid smile. "Well done, angel."

The anger couldn't decide where to look, his gaze flitting up and down, from Crowley's face to his… "Is it uncomfortable?"

"Not really," Crowley said. He adjusted his posture to be more protuberant, spreading his legs and shifting his hips. "Feels rather nice, actually." When he was done admiring himself, Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale's gaze similarly glued to the spot. The demon blazed with pride. 

"Alright," said Crowley, smug. "Hop on."

Aziraphale startled like he'd been slapped. "I beg your pardon?"

"You wanted to have sex, didn't you? Eh?" Crowley gestured towards his lap with the bottle in his hand. "Go on, then. Ride it out."

Aziraphale blinked. "Sorry, I'm not entirely certain what exactly you expect me to do."

"The possibilities are endless, really," Crowley elaborated, "but I think it's typically used for penetration."

Aziraphale's brow wrinkled. "So, you're saying I should…"

"Put it in you, yep." Crowley watched the angel's face, the corners of his lips curling devilishly. "Whip it out and climb on board."

"But I don't have a… oh."

Crowley grinned.

"You want me to…"

Crowley flashed his eyebrows. "Mmm-hmm." 

Aziraphale looked absolutely scandalized. "A moment ago you were concerned about the cleanliness of a mouth, and now you want me to… to… " 

Crowley lifted the bottle to his lips, to stop himself from laughing more than anything.

"... to put my  _ anus _ on you!"

Crowley nearly choked. The cognac was too good to waste, so he forced himself to swallow instead.

"Good Heavenly Father above," Aziraphale muttered. "Give me that," he demanded, hand out towards the bottle in Crowley's hand.

Crowley passed it over. "I wasn't planning on putting my mouth on it," he said convivially. "Although that is a thing that people do."

"Really," Aziraphale huffed, more interjection than question.

"Oh, yes," Crowley said, amused. "Arse gobby's very in, these days." The angel glared at him over the lip of the bottle, which tickled Crowley even more. "You don't want me to conjure up some dental dams and give it a go?"

Aziraphale finished swallowing. "I think not," he said firmly.

"You're the one who wanted to try some sex," Crowley said, reaching to take the bottle back. "If you've got a better idea, now's the time."

Aziraphale sighed, noticing, "It's going away already."

Crowley glanced down at himself and shrugged. "Your indecision isn't exactly titillating, angel. Once you've made up your mind, we'll get it back." He took a swig.

Aziraphale contemplated the demon in his lap, considering his options. "Perhaps we should move to the bedroom," he suggested.

"Oh?" Crowley said suggestively.

"I'd imagine we'd need a bit more room than this for, what'd you call it? Arse…?"

"Arse gobby," Crowley repeated. "You know… rimming. Tossing salad. Kissing the starfish. Crack snacking." The look on Aziraphale's face made it even more fun. "Eating ass," he added, in the American fashion.

"Are you finished?" Aziraphale asked, grabbing the bottle from Crowley's hands.

Crowley thought for a moment. " _ Analingus _ ."

The angel looked to the heavens in a silent plea, then drank deeply.

"Thought you weren't interested," Crowley leered. "Change your mind already?"

"If it will stop your dreadful enumeration," Aziraphale said testily.

Crowley was on a roll now. "Talk about perverse incentives," he said.

Aziraphale just sighed.

"Get it?  _ Perverse  _ incen-"

"I get it, Crowley," Aziraphale said, looking more pinched than usual.

"Oh, don't get your feathers ruffled. And don't drink all of that-" Crowley snatched the bottle back. "I'm going to need it, unless you want me getting carried away in a moment of passion and ripping your throat out."

Aziraphale protested, "I'm sure you wouldn't…"

Crowley glowered his disagreement at the angel, bottle already upturned at his lips.

"Did you really come that close to…?"

Crowley's chin dipped in a small nod, still drinking.

"Well. There's more in the kitchen," Aziraphale said, watching with mild distress as Crowley finished gulping it down. "Though I'm not sure if it's wise to get too drunk. I understand it can affect one's sexual performance."

Crowley belched quietly. "You wanted to be more drunk!"

"For the asking," Aziraphale insisted, "not the sex."

"Ngeh." Crowley curled his lip. "I'm not getting  _ drunk _ drunk. Just enough to take the edge off, eh? Make me feel a bit more… Iunno. Human." He chucked the empty onto the table with a hollow clatter. He noticed one of the other bottles wasn't entirely gone and lunged for it, dangling off Aziraphale's neck to swing over and back.

"You're making a mess," Aziraphale scolded.

"You're cute when you're angry." The flustered tizzy that came over the angel was worth the indignity of Crowley having to say the word  _ cute _ .

"I- you-" The more Aziraphale foundered, the wider Crowley's smile grew. "I'm not- angry, that is- I mean- you've… there's broken glass on the floor!"

"Then clean it up, if it bothers you so much." Crowley went back to drinking.

Aziraphale pursed his lips disapprovingly. "It's your flat."

Crowley sneered at him dismissively over the bottle.

"Come now," Aziraphale pouted. "Someone could get seriously hurt!"

"Oh, who?" jeered the demon. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not in the mood. Making things whole is your thing. Breaking them is mine."

"Please, Crowley," said Aziraphale.

With a click of the demon's fingers, the glass sorted itself out, sitting tidily intact on the coffee table with the other discards. "Dunno why you always make me do this stuff."

"I'm trying to avoid unnecessary attention." Aziraphale glanced upward meaningfully.

"Thought we took care of that," Crowley groused.

"I do hope so," Aziraphale said. "But I don't want to give them any reason to check in on us. Unlike dining, I can't pass this off as blending in with the locals." The angel's encircling arm gave Crowley a timorous squeeze.

Crowley's eyelids twitched. "You're still afraid of them."

Aziraphale nodded, eyes wide and apprehensive.

"Don't be," Crowley said sharply. "They're rubbish. Cowards, all of them. I'd rip them to pieces before they ever got near you."

Aziraphale wasn't sure whether to be grateful or frightened, personally flattered or pacifistically offended. "Yes… well… still…" he wavered.

Crowley watched the emotions kaleidoscope over the angel's face with growing disgust. He wasn't sure whether it was directed toward the Heavenly Host ( _ who were supposed to be the good guys! _ he thought) or towards himself, for finding Aziraphale's sincere expressiveness so blessedly endearing. "Don't worry about it, angel," he said.

"If you insist," Aziraphale conceded. He watched Crowley finish the last of the brandy and worried about whether it was even possible for him to 'not worry about it'.

Crowley snorted. "Come on," he said. "Let's do something to take your mind off it." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the angel's cheek, then unwound himself and stood. "Get the glasses, would you?" he asked over his shoulder, swaying into the kitchen to grab another bottle.

Aziraphale blinked, stunned. Out of pure mindless habit he neatened up in his seat, hands fluttering nervously to straighten his bow tie and smooth out his hems. He took one snifter in each hand, as instructed.

Then Crowley was back, dark and lithe and leaning tipsily against the threshold. He didn't say a word, only beckoned with a tip of his head before turning away to pad towards the bedroom.

Aziraphale followed.


	2. Bedroom

Crowley's bedroom was just as gothically brutalist as the rest of his flat. Stony gray walls stretched up to a high ceiling, with sparse furnishings arranged precisely on dark shag carpet. The room was dominated by a centerpiece wrought-iron bed, huge and plush with silk-satin linens and velvet pillows. It was framed by two glossy nightstands and a mirrored chiffonier against the far wall.

As Crowley swaggered in, he filled each bedside drawer with a point, a click and a wink. He frowned at his nearly-empty dresser, then thought better of it. Best to start with the basics and leave room for improvisation.

Aziraphale hesitated at the threshold like a lost puppy. "I woke up here, you say?"

"Y- w-" Crowley stared into the middle distance for a moment. "You must have, because I left here today looking like that," he flapped a hand at the angel's body.

"I'm sure I'd remember this," Aziraphale said, glancing around as if he expected something to pop out at him. "It doesn't look like it's been used."

Crowley gave half a shrug. "That's just how I keep it. Though..." he sniffed the air. "We might have passed out on the sofa, I dunno…" As Crowley set down the bottle of cognac, his mind glanced off the subject and onto a much more pleasant one. He returned to take the snifters out of Aziraphale's hands. "Come on in then, make yourself comfortable."

As Crowley arranged the glassware, Aziraphale took a few tentative steps into the room. "Do you use it often?"

"Nah. Only for naps."

The only experience Aziraphale had with beds was reclining in them to read. He didn't make a habit of it; he could never seem to find a position that allowed him to comfortably hold a book. Still, it was the only reference point he had. When Crowley turned to fix him in his serpent's gaze, Aziraphale asked, a bit desperately, "Any good reading material?"

A slow smile came over Crowley's face. He blinked towards the other side of the bed, watched with barely-contained glee as Aziraphale went over and opened a drawer full of magazines.

"Oh!"

Crowley grinned.

"I didn't know you were interested in photography," Aziraphale said pleasantly. 

Crowley's face fell into a pointed grimace.

Aziraphale didn't notice, busy flipping up the top magazine to look at the ones underneath. "Or… illustration." The angel pulled one from the bottom of the stack and set it on top, flipping to glance at random pages. "Mm. Very strong focal point."

"It's _pornography_ , you…" Aziraphale looked up at him, adorably confused, and the insults withered in Crowley's mouth before he could speak them. "You… oh, you blessed, celestial being." 

The angel lit up like a Christmas tree, and Crowley could only sigh and return the smile. "See anything you like, angel?" he asked, nodding towards the magazine. "Feel free to pick something out of the catalogue, so to speak."

"Oh." Aziraphale's mouth twisted as he looked back down. "Alright," he said, uncertainly.

Crowley watched him turn pages, almost instantly bored. "I've got the standard supplies over here," he said, gesturing to the nightstand with the liquor on it. 

Aziraphale nodded, scanning pages.

"...and I'm sure we can rustle up any other... accessories," Crowley ventured, "that might strike your interest."

The angel wrinkled his nose at one of the images. "Hm."

Crowley put his hands in his pockets, then took them back out again. He counted to ten. Finally, he said, "Should I pour myself a drink?"

"If you'd like," Aziraphale said blandly.

"Maybe go put on the telly? Come back in an hour when you've finished going through my whole collection?"

"Sorry. These all seem a bit… advanced." The angel closed the magazine, and then the drawer. He looked at Crowley across the bed. "We haven't even taken our clothes off."

"Oh, that's easy," Crowley said, and before Aziraphale could stop him, he clicked his fingers and became naked.

The angel's gaze flew politely and instinctively upwards. He had to force himself to look back down into Crowley's eyes.

The demon grinned at him. He stood with a wide stance, hands on waggling hips. "Eh? Ehh?"

Aziraphale took a quick peek, which turned into a long gawk.

"Like what you see?" Crowley asked confidently. He swiveled from one side to the other, giving the angel a panoramic look.

"Er. Hm. How do you fit it into your trousers? They're very slim, and that's…" Aziraphale's eyebrows finished his sentence for him.

"Supportive undergarments," Crowley replied, matter-of-fact.

"How much…" Aziraphale blushed. "I mean, when you… it must get… when it's…" With a look of honest concern, Aziraphale mimed a certain length growing longer.

"Not that much," Crowley said. "More of a shower than a grower."

Aziraphale nodded his grudging approval… then shook his head violently. "This isn't what I had in mind at all."

Crowley looked down at himself. He said, disappointed, "I could make it smaller…"

"That's not it," Aziraphale assured him, sparing another long glance downward. Then he caught himself. "Put your clothes back on. Please."

Crowley did so with a thought, then arched a questioning brow at the angel.

"I was hoping that, perhaps, we might," Aziraphale worked his way up to it, "...undress each other?"

"Oh, sure," Crowley said, bringing his fingers up for another click.

"N-" 

Aziraphale wasn't fast enough. In the time it took him to finish the word "no" he found himself nude. He rushed to clasp his hands over his genitals.

"Oh, what'd you do that for?" complained Crowley.

"This is not what I meant!" fumed Aziraphale. Crowley chuckled, but the angel was not the least bit amused. "Give. Me. Back. My. Clothes!"

Crowley clicked again, rolling his eyes. Aziraphale unclasped his hands to run them over his layers, feeling to make sure everything was still intact and accounted for. "I meant _manually_ ," he said stormily.

"What for?" Crowley said with a bewildered sneer. He glanced down at all of Aziraphale's buttons. "Seems a lot of work."

"I'm trying to have a sensual experience with you, Crowley," Aziraphale answered, his patience worn very thin. "I'm not at all interested if what you want is, is- just a quick bit of rumpy pumpy!" He ignored Crowley's cringing and continued, "And I don't appreciate being stripped without my consent!"

Crowley's bottom lip came out into an exaggerated pout that would be easily confused for mockery to anyone who hadn't known him for six thousand years.

"You know how much I like this coat," Aziraphale fretted, petting the fabric of it with worried affection.

"I would never hurt your coat," said Crowley indulgently. "I only put it away for a moment. And I won't do it again."

Aziraphale's glare melted into a slight, forgiving smile. "Thank you."

Crowley bit back his annoyance and said, "Now come here. Unless you want to hang up your coat first," he snarked.

"Oh, could I? I was just wondering where I'd put it," Aziraphale said gratefully.

With a resigned gesture, Crowley manifested a row of coat hooks on the wall.

Aziraphale looked at them, then back at Crowley with a flash of polite smile and anxious eyes. "Do you have any hangers, by chance? It's just that I don't want the collar to…"

Crowley sniffed, and blinked, and a wooden hanger appeared on one of the hooks.

The angel smiled again, this time wide and appreciative. "Would you like to lend a hand?"

If Crowley was going to be honest, he'd tell the angel he didn't see the point. But he also didn't see the point in things like clothes hangers, or manual undressing, or sex. He supposed if there was any point at all, it was written in the hopeful expectation on the angel's face. 

"If it makes you happy," Crowley acceded, honest in a different sort of way, despite his tone. 

Aziraphale balled his hands into loosely excited fists. "Have at it," he said.

"So now I can take off your clothes?" asked Crowley archly.

"Yes," Aziraphale said happily. "Thank you for asking."

Crowley's hands rose to grab Aziraphale's lapels-

"Carefully, please," the angel insisted.

Crowley sighed, then resumed with petulant slowness, slipping his hands under Aziraphale's lapels to loosen the coat from the angel's shoulders. He wasn't expecting the well-worn waistcoat to be so supple under his fingers, or for the angel to go so trustingly slack as soon as Crowley's hands were on him. 

"There you go," he said, only mildly resentful, handing Aziraphale's coat back to him. "I'll take it off, _you_ hang it up."

Something about the angel in shirtsleeves made Crowley feel voyeuristic, more so now than when Aziraphale was starkers. Or was it the small domestic act of hanging a coat from the wall, or the care with which he fussed at it? Whatever it was, it made Crowley felt like he was peeping on something he shouldn't have been allowed to see.

Aziraphale turned back, oblivious. "Now what?" The demon just stared with slitted eyes, wandering all over his body but not once meeting his increasingly-worried gaze. "Crowley? Are you alright?"

"Yep," lied the demon, sounding just as breathless as he felt. He flailed for a cover story, eventually managing, "Just surprised you've actually got a shape under that coat. You've got a waist, and… thighs, and… everything."

Aziraphale puzzled at him for a moment. Eventually he said, uncertainly, "Of course I do."

"Course you do. Right. Dunno what I'm talking about. So what's next, hm?" Crowley ignored the slithering in his guts and gave Aziraphale another slow once-over. "Probably your jewelry." He grabbed at the angel's hand. "May I?"

If Aziraphale noticed the scorn in his tone, he showed no sign. "Please," he replied congenially.

"So what you want is a _ssensual experiensse_ , mm?" Crowley mocked, voice tightening around the mimicked words. The banter kept him grounded as he took Aziraphale's hand up in both of his. Thumb and forefingers found the angel's ring and twisted gently, hard metal contrasting with the plump skin beneath.

"I do believe so," said Aziraphale, as if he was realizing it while he spoke.

Crowley's fingertips undulated underneath Aziraphale's hand, stretching up to his wrist, dragging down to the soft crease where fingers met palm. "Should I be petting you, then? Maybe giving you little kisses?"

"Yes. That would be lovely."

Crowley snorted as he worked the ring off the angel's finger. He thought about asking why Aziraphale wears it - and knew he'd probably get a whole rambling origin story - but he also knew the answer was, at the root, _because he likes it_. It's why either of them were here at all. It's why they'd saved the world.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale's hand to his lips. The scent of cologne tickled his nose as he kissed the place where the ring had been. He kissed the points of each knuckle, then the thumb, then the fleshy part of the palm underneath. 

When he slid his grip up to the angel's wrist to undo his cufflink, he glanced up at the angel's face to see it in a rictus akin to shock.

"Mm?" Crowley prompted.

"Oh-" Aziraphale slapped the fingers of his free hand over his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself from giggling.

Crowley smiled. "What?"

"Mmm." Aziraphale shook his head.

The demon gently prised the angel's hand away from his face to give it the same treatment as the first. "What?" he murmured into Aziraphale's knuckles.

Charmed, Aziraphale tittered, "Oh, but if I tell you, you won't like it."

" _What?_ "

"You're being so… nice!"

Crowley's fingertips stopped what they were doing to dig into Aziraphale's skin.

"Oh, please, don't be upset."

Maybe it was the drink, or the cumulative events of the past few days, or the angelic gaze worrying up at him, but whatever had built up within the demon, Aziraphale's request was the final straw. Something in Crowley's demonic soul _snapped_. 

"So what if I am-- _nice_ ? So _bloody_ what?" He swayed, gently, tipping his head back to shout. "So what if Hell wouldn't approve? Hell's not the boss of me anymore! I can be _nice_ all I want!"

"That's right," Aziraphale encouraged.

"I'm not any less of a demon just because I'm _nice_ every once in a while, am I?"

"Of course not!"

"And- look at you! I'm sure Heaven wouldn't like the way you were mouth-fucking my neck a few minutes ago…"

"Er."

"...but that certainly didn't stop you, did it? And you're just as perfectly ethereal as ever!"

"Oh." Aziraphale blushed.

"So there's no reason I shouldn't be _nice_ if I feel like it!" Crowley hollered. "No reason at all!"

Aziraphale wasn't certain about all the steps along the way, but he couldn't help but cheer at the conclusion. "Right-o!"

"And you, angel," Crowley said, squeezing his hand, "There's no reason you shouldn't be… woss the opposite? Naughty."

"Mm." Aziraphale felt like he should object to that on principle, but he didn't want to be disagreeable. "I suppose we shall both be just as naughty, or as nice, as we choose to be," he said vaguely.

"Yes!" Crowley said, with tipsy enthusiasm. "Exactly that! Thank you!" He removed the angel's second cufflink. "I can _choose_ to do whatever I want, from here on out. Even if it's stupid, or pointless, or… _nice_." He bent lower to fuss with the chain on Aziraphale's pocketwatch.

Aziraphale didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. As ever, he went with honesty: "I'm not sure what to say."

"Say whatever you want. That's the whole point. Aha! Got you-" Crowley pulled the watch and chain free. He pooled it in his cupped hands with the rest of the angel's treasure, then deposited it all in a pile on top of the dresser.

"I don't suppose you have a… jewelry box or…"

"No." Crowley took Aziraphale by the arm and maneuvered him towards the bed.

"But they get lost so easily if they're not put away."

"They're literally the only thing on the entire surface. Now," Crowley said, gripping the angel by his upper arms. "Waistcoat, or shoes?"

Aziraphale felt the bed hit the backs of his legs, realizing with a pleasant jolt that he was boxed in. "Oh. Erm." He thought, desperately, _What would a human do?_ "Shoes, I think."

Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale's sides, sinking to his knees as he moved down the legs. The angel's loafers slipped off easily. 

As Crowley discarded them, a devilish thought occurred to him. With one hand on each of Aziraphale's stockinged feet, he asked, "Are you ticklish?"

"I don't kn-IYEE!" Aziraphale flailed, giggling and squirming away. "No, no, stop it!"

"Awww." Crowley sat back on his haunches. "You're no fun."

"It's too much! How does anyone stand it?"

"I don't know that they do." Crowley reached for one of Aziraphale's feet, rolling his eyes when the angel pulled away. "Let me get your socks."

"No tickling!"

"No tickling," Crowley promised. 

Aziraphale relaxed into his hands. "Was that a sex thing? It was so over-stimulating."

"Usually not," Crowley explained. "Though, sometimes, yeah. I think it's used as a kind of pleasant torture." He tossed Aziraphale's socks to the floor behind him, then slid his hands back up the smooth skin he'd revealed.

Aziraphale tried to process this through the sensation of Crowley squeezing his feet. It didn't exactly tickle, but it was distracting enough on its own. "Pleasant… torture?"

"Oh, yeah. Quite a lot of that, actually. All different kinds. Spanking, whipping, caning. Orgasm denial. Nipple torture, breast torture, cock and ball torture… actually, now that I think about it, a lot of these are named after body parts."

"I think I'd prefer to avoid any sort of torture altogether," Aziraphale said, dubious.

Crowley's hands had worked their way up to Aziraphale's ankles. He let his palms cup around the bony end of the fibula and looked up at the angel. "Only pleasure, no pain? Bit boring, don't you think? Like sushi without the horseradish."

"It's _wasabi_ ," Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley's lip curled. "It tastes the same. Anyway, you know what I mean."

"Which is why I requested you avoid _torture_ in specific, not pain in general." Aziraphale fiddled his fingers in his lap. "When you were mouth… well, when you were doing that thing with your mouth, earlier. That was fine."

"Only fine?" Crowley teased.

Aziraphale's mouth opened, then closed again. His hands clasped together tightly as part of a nervous reflex. He shrugged. "I don't exactly have a standard of reference."

"Well then," Crowley said, constitutionally incapable of taking that as anything but a challenge. He hauled himself up onto his knees and leaned heavily into the angel's space, bracing his weight by gripping Aziraphale's thighs.

Aziraphale held Crowley's shoulders to steady him enough to start at the waistcoat buttons. He was starting to get blurry from the barrage of mixed messages. "I know, earlier, you said I should stop asking, but I must insist, if there's anything you're uncomfortable with, you really don't have to-"

"I know," Crowley said, entirely sincere. He glanced up at the angel, to make sure he saw it on his face. "You too. I'm not as good at asking as you are, but… stop me if I go too far."

"The problem is, I'm not sure I know what qualifies."

"Well, it's subjective, yeah?" Crowley finished parting the angel's waistcoat and slid the flats of his palms against the softness underneath. "Just, tell me if something doesn't feel right."

"Ah," replied Aziraphale. The demon's hands roved up Aziraphale's torso, making it hard for him to put thoughts into words. "Alright."

"If you're not complaining, I'll assume you're having a good time?"

Aziraphale nodded, squeezing Crowley's shoulders a bit tighter.

"Good." He tugged at the angel's bow tie to loosen it, then yanked it free and flung it over his shoulder.

"Oh-"

Crowley's hands swept along the angel's shoulders, then stripped his waistcoat down his arms. He discarded it as soon as it was off Aziraphale's body.

"-do be careful with my belongings."

"I'm already being _nice_ ," Crowley complained. "Now you want me to be _careful_ , too? Next you'll ask me to be _gentle_ , or _patient_." His hands were already at Aziraphale's top button. "Are you wearing another shirt under this one?"

"An undershirt, you mean? Yes, of course."

"Why so many blessed layers?" The buttons were small and tight, and they seemed to want to slip right through Crowley's fingers. "Oh, fuck it." He hooked a finger inside the angel's collar and ran it down the front of the shirt, popping each button off with an effort of his diabolical will.

"Crowley! What did I just say?"

"I'll fix it. I promise. Later." Crowley rucked up Aziraphale's undershirt, finally finding skin underneath. "S'your fault for wearing too many clothes. I'm trying to be _sensual_ here."

"That was a nice shirt!"

"It's a shirt. I'll buy you another one."

"You promised you'd fix it!"

"I'll fix it, then."

"You'd better." Aziraphale couldn't sound too stern, not with the demon's hands soothing up and down his sides.

"I'll even do it by hand, if it makes you happy," Crowley said. He would, too, he realized with a queasy certainty. He'd do all manner of things to make the angel happy, from sewing on buttons to… to… 

Crowley lunged to kiss Aziraphale, then kissed him again, and again. His fingertips dug into all the soft, yielding flesh he could find. When the angel gasped enthusiastically, he pressed his body closer, his knee slotting between Aziraphale's thighs.

"Oh! Crowley, something feels… different. Hold on, my dear, please-"

Crowley looked down to find the angel had _arisen_. "Oh, well, that's…" A devilish instinct sent his hand down for a friendly pat. 

"A-ah!" Aziraphale reacted with his whole body, clutching at Crowley with both hands, spine curling.

Crowley felt light-headed. His hand bolted for the angel's fly.

"That was…" Aziraphale breathed, reeling. "Fairly intense. Quite an awful lot of nerve endin-n-gyah!" Crowley's hand had found its mark, and Aziraphale reacted with exquisite sensitivity. 

The demon was transfixed. When humans did this it was almost boring, but to have an angel mewling in his arms… and not just any angel, but _his_ angel. Sweet, kindly, do-gooding Aziraphale, who he'd known since the Beginning.

Crowley's hand began working inside the angel's slacks, driven by a raw, sudden need he didn't entirely understand. 

"Oh! Oh- no, it's too much!" Aziraphale shuddered.

The last thing the demon wanted to do was stop, though what was left of his conscience told Crowley he should at least slow down… but the angel was keening into his shoulder, not pushing him away. 

"That's how it's supposed to feel," Crowley murmured, speeding up instead. A strange need pulsed in his guts, driving him to go harder, faster, rougher.

The angel clung to Crowley helplessly. "It's- ah!"

"I know," Crowley assured. He squeezed tighter with each quick, steady stroke. "That's it, angel, I've got you."

"I'm- I can't-"

Aziraphale twitched, and squeaked, and suddenly Crowley's hand was substantially wetter.

Then both went still, holding on to each other for a long moment while reality caught up to them.

"What," asked Aziraphale, "was _that_?"

Crowley was too shocked for speech. He felt like a live wire, crackling and hot.

The angel looked down at himself. "I- I think I ejaculated. Was that an orgasm?"

"Ngk."

"If so, I think I understand why people like them so much," Aziraphale said shakily. 

Crowley, ramrod-hard and swaying on his feet, was inclined to agree. But when he was finally capable of speech, the first word that came to his lips was: " _God_."

"Oh, please don't bring Her into this."

"That was the most ridiculously erotic thing I've ever seen," the demon declared. "Ever."

Aziraphale's face felt warm. He realized he'd been sweating. "I think I might need to lie down."

Crowley's knees buckled as the angel melted out of his arms. His skin buzzed with electric energy, despite all his muscles feeling noodle-weak. It was as if he couldn't get enough air, which was a distressing feeling for a being that didn't need to breathe. 

"Me too, actually. Move." He flopped down next to Aziraphale. When the angel didn't get out of his way, Crowley coiled around him with serpentine limbs, crowding him further onto the bed.

Aziraphale nestled in comfortably. "It feels so nice to be held. Thank you, my dear."

Crowley stopped pushing and settled down, only slightly irritated. The resplendent serenity on Aziraphale's face helped a bit.

"What a marvelous chain of circumstances," Aziraphale burbled. "Of course I knew a little about the physiology, but as a set of qualia…" He trailed off, an anxious thought occurring to him. "Oh, that did count as sex, didn't it?"

"It absolutely qualifies," Crowley said with certainty. He lifted a still-sticky hand as a visual illustration. "I made you cum. That surely counts for something." He blinked, and the remainder of the fluid dematerialized from his fingers.

"That _is_ what that was! I'd thought so." Aziraphale sighed contentedly. "It all happened so fast."

"It was quick," Crowley acknowledged, "but that's not a bad thing." He wound himself tightly around the angel, craving touch but not understanding why… until he rolled his groin into Aziraphale's thigh and hissed at the friction it created. 

"I'm not sure we're finished, actually," he said.

When Aziraphale looked questioningly at him, Crowley took the angel's hand and placed it where he ached the most.

An understanding smile unfolded over Aziraphale's face. "Of course."

Aziraphale stroked along the hard line in the demon's trousers like he was petting a small animal. Despite his inexpert touch, Crowley rewarded him with a needy groan, followed by an impatient, "Take it out, would you?"

Aziraphale's hand went to Crowley's belt buckle, then paused. He ran the flat of his palm up Crowley's stomach. "But you're still fully dressed-"

"Oh, angel, now's not the time for standing on procedure. I'm ready _now_. Don't make me beg."

Then, when Aziraphale took too long with his belt: "Oh, for- no, let me- it's just- there. There you are." Crowley finished unzipping and untucking, and brought himself out to bob pendulously in the space between their bodies.

Aziraphale stared.

Crowley felt ready to crawl out of his skin and start climbing the walls. "Touch it, angel. Please."

Aziraphale reached out for a tentative tug, and Crowley hissed. "Yesss. Oh, thank Sa- er… thank _you_ , that's… mmm."

As Aziraphale went to work, Crowley's head tipped back, and he fell silent except for the occasional appreciative sigh.

After a minute or so, Aziraphale asked, "Am I doing it right?"

"Mmhm." Crowley nodded.

As the silence grew, Aziraphale couldn't help but worry. A minute later, he said, "It's just that, when you were doing this to me, it was… well, I was…"

"Bit quick on the trigger?"

"Well, yes, but more importantly, it was something of a profound sensory experience."

"Mm, that it was." Crowley stretched and squirmed under the angel's hands.

Aziraphale took the compliment gratefully, but couldn't help but point out, "If you're still capable of coherent speech, I must be doing something differently."

"Maybe you're just more sensitive than I am," Crowley said.

Aziraphale digested this information. "Is that normal?"

"Iunno. Probably. I think everyone's different." Crowley canted his hips in the angel's direction. "What you're doing feels good. Keep it up, yeah?"

"Certainly," Aziraphale assured, with a generous demonstration. "Still, do let me know if I can make this more pleasurable for you."

"You're doing great." And he was - each dragging stroke was thorough and precise, stimulating Crowley from root to tip. "Maybe a little faster?" he suggested. 

It barely made a difference. Crowley didn't mind at all, so long as he was being touched. Anyway, it hadn't been a physical sensation that got him hard in the first place, Crowley thought to himself, but the way the angel had jumped at his touch… 

The memory sent sparks up Crowley's spine. Every other sensation became sharper, as if something was slowly coming into focus. The more he thought about what he'd done to Aziraphale, the hotter he got. "I can't believe I got you off so quick," he murmured.

"Yes, well, you were very good at it."

"Oh, angel. So are you." Crowley's hips moved instinctively to the rhythm of Aziraphale's hand. "The way you moved when I touched you… _fuck_."

Aziraphale began to catch on. "It felt wonderful," he encouraged.

The words went straight to Crowley's groin. "Tell me."

"It was the single most intensive sensory experience of my entire existence."

"Ungh."

"It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. You saw it yourself, my dear. I couldn't speak. I could barely think. I thought I was going to discorporate from sheer physical ecstasy."

"Nghh."

Aziraphale was running out of things to say. "My only hope at this moment is to give you some fraction of the pleasure you gave me."

"Ah-" Crowley, panting, found his voice. "You want to finish me off?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Why y-"

"Tell me to cum for you," Crowley said, writhing. "I want to- I- I'm close, I think, just- please- tell me to-"

"Crowley," Aziraphale interrupted sternly. He enunciated, very carefully, "I want you to cum for me."

"Oh-h…"

"I'm not going to stop," Aziraphale said, "until I've made you cum."

"Yes- fuck- make me-"

"Cum for me, Crowley."

The demon did as commanded, thrashing and swearing, then trembling and gasping. He eventually halted Aziraphale's hand by covering it with his own.

"Well," Aziraphale said.

Crowley could barely do more than breathe. He was very glad he had been lying down.

"Holy shit."

"Quite so."

Aziraphale moved his hand to caress its way up Crowley's side but stopped short, raising his gooey fingers for inspection. "Is it always so… messy?"

Crowley could only laugh. He wiggled his fingers loosely and vanished the mess into thin air.

"Oh," Aziraphale pouted. "You didn't have to do that. I wanted to give it a taste."

"You _what?_ "

The angel frowned. "Is that not done?"

"It is. I just- I- y-" his mouth struggled with forming words. He breathed a sigh, and started over. "The things that come out of your mouth, for the love of… someone."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not wrong, just absolutely filthy." Crowley wriggled in close. "I love it. Don't ever change."

Aziraphale swelled with confusing emotion. There was too much to say, and nowhere to start. Instead, remembering how nice it felt, he enveloped Crowley in a snug embrace.

Crowley clung back tightly, the way a small crawling thing holds fast to a leaf. He told himself it was a trick of the nervous system - a side effect of all the oxytocin and serotonin - but the warmth that spread through him felt almost, for a moment, like Heaven.

Better than Heaven, Crowley thought, first bitterly, then with a small thrill. Probably no orgasms in Heaven. Definitely no pornography, or silk-satin sheets, or soft-bellied bodies to curl up on. There was nothing like this in Heaven or Hell, and never could be. Only here on Earth. Only with Aziraphale.

Crowley gazed up at the angel, feeling grateful. Unworthy, even.

Aziraphale beamed down at him. "Would you do something for me, my dear?"

"Anything, angel."

"Please put your penis away. You look ridiculous."

Crowley bit his tongue. "Oh, is that all?" He looked down to where it flopped out of his fly. "It's a bold look, but I think I like it."

"You're being absurd. Either take your pants off, or put it away."

"Is pants-off an option? I thought you wanted to do that part. Manually, even."

"I do," Aziraphale said, "but not with your _Master John Goodfellow_ dangling out the front."

"So, what, I put it away so you can take it back out again later?" Crowley smirked, adjusting it to hang more prettily. "I kind of want to take a picture."

"For what possible reason?"

Crowley shrugged. "Sending it to strangers, probably."

"That's disgusting!" Aziraphale recoiled.

Crowley only leaned more heavily into the angel. "I am, aren't I?" he cooed.

"No, of course not, but-"

"Have to try harder," Crowley muttered.

" _But_ ," Aziraphale refused to be interrupted, "that behavior is, absolutely! I will not stand for it."

"Wh-" Crowley sputtered. "I'm a _demon_ , what do you want from me?"

"Promise me you won't."

"No!"

They stared at each other for a moment, communicating through a series of progressively grumpier faces.

Aziraphale blinked first. "Oh, it's terrible. I can just imagine all the poor women you've traumatized."

A devious smile curled Crowley's lips. "Who says I send them to women at all?"

"I…" Aziraphale took a moment to process this. "Hm. Men?"

"Of course, men. Do you think I'm going to bother nonbinary people, hm? You think I'm sending dick pics to genderqueers minding their own business, just trying to exist in the world?"

Aziraphale let him wind down. Then asked, "These men…?"

"Only the most obnoxiously heterosexual misogynists and homophobes. Right hand up, scout's honor. Half of them are latent anyway, and all it does is help them self-actualize."

The angel's face softened. "Oh, Crowley."

"Gets annoying, actually. Try to do something evil, end up _helping people_." He slipped his phone out of his pocket and pointed it downward. "Still, before it goes away completely."

Aziraphale scoffed, but didn't intervene.

"Nice," Crowley said to himself. Then he tossed the phone next to him on the bed. "If pants-off is still an option, I'm down to Donald Duck it."

He glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation, and sighed at the confusion on his face.

"Do you watch any television? Ever?" asked the demon snidely. He kicked off his shoes, no longer caring if the angel objected.

"Not usually," Aziraphale said. "Occasionally it's on in public. It seems awfully shouty."

"What, do you mean footy? Not exactly representative." Crowley wriggled out of his bottoms all at once, pushing them down his legs to kick them onto the floor in a heap.

"Not sport," Aziraphale said. "Politics, I think."

"Oh, well, that's worse." Crowley rolled over, grabbed his phone, and started tapping. "I mean real TV. The quality stuff. Here."

He shoved his phone at Aziraphale, who peered politely at the screen. "A cartoon?"

"That's classic! Disney! Come on, angel, learn a reference." Crowley tapped at the screen. "Donald Duck." He gestured, and grinned. "Eh?"

"I see. Clever," Aziraphale said drily, handing back the phone as if it were slimy.

Crowley was barely deterred. "Where's your sense of whimsy? Come on, I'm sure I can find something you'd like. Disney's come a long way since old Donald here… though the new one is actually… hm. No, not Duck Tales… maybe Lilo and Stitch?"

The demon rolled onto his belly and into the angel, first jabbing his elbow into Aziraphale's side, then wriggling closer until they were practically overlapping.

Aziraphale accommodated the intrusion with as much good humor as he could muster. Before settling in, he glanced back along their bodies, noting each place they made contact. The demon's bare bottom peeked from underneath his rumpled shirttail.

"Look," Crowley said, waving his phone.

Aziraphale sighed, but hunkered down by Crowley's side to squint at the screen all the same.

"Another cartoon?"

"It's a trailer. Watch it, and tell me if you like it."

"Perhaps I should get my glasses…"

"You don't need your specs to know if you'd like a film from the trailer. Just-" Crowley restarted the video. "Watch!"

Aziraphale set his gaze patiently on the screen. 

About halfway through the video, he asked, "Is this… some sort of sex... thing?"

Crowley's head turned on his neck like an owl. "You think watching Disney trailers might be a sex thing?"

"Not that, specifically, but this." The angel made a small gesture at the two of them. "We're in a state of significant undress, and you're usually not this… physically proximate."

Crowley considered. "I guess it might be. Post-coital snuggling, and all that." He shot the angel a concerned glance. "Should I stop?"

"No!" Aziraphale said, very quickly. Then, after fretting for a moment: "Does it always have to be post-coital?"

"No," Crowley said heartily. He readjusted himself to fling a loose leg over the angel. "If I'd known you didn't mind, I would have been doing this centuries ago."

"And given us away completely?"

"I'm just saying, you're very pleasant to curl up on. All warm and squishy."

"Oh."

The trailer ended. 

"So," Crowley asked. "You want to see the whole thing?"

Aziraphale smiled. He gave the demon a little squeeze.

"Certainly."


End file.
